Expectations of Happiness (14 page)

“Indeed I do,” she replied, “he is married to my eldest sister Elinor and is the parson at Delaford, which is a living on the estate of my other brother-in-law, Colonel Brandon. Do you know Edward?”

Daniel Brooke shook his head. “I cannot claim to know Mr Ferrars well, but I have met him on several occasions at Oxford, where he undertook theological studies before taking orders, under the tutelage of a very good friend of mine—a theologian of some repute, Dr Francis Grantley.”

Margaret was delighted with this piece of information; she had certainly heard her brother-in-law speak highly of Dr Grantley, she said, he had been Edward's mentor at Oxford and he had enormous respect for him as a theologian. Their conversation then proceeded along a path that clearly held much interest for Margaret and Mr Brooke, but had little or no significance for their companions, who looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders, and concentrated on the surrounding scenery.

Later, after they had reached their destination and located the house where they were to stay, met their hosts, and deposited their trunks, they went out again to walk about the area, and Mr Brooke offered to show them one of his favourite places—an ancient abbey, where the monks had lived, worked, and prayed since before the Crusades. It wasn't far, he said, and Margaret was keen to go. Her friend, though less keen to spend a part of a soporific afternoon wandering around an old monastery, was persuaded that it was worth seeing and went too. However, while Mr Brooke and Margaret lingered to admire the ancient buildings and ask questions of the caretaker, Miss Jones declared that she was weary and wished to find a seat, which Mr Wilcox found quite easily in a corner of the old lavender garden behind the abbey.

While waiting for the others, Claire expressed some surprise at the way her friend had plunged into a serious discourse on the abbey and other matters with Mr Brooke, but Nicholas Wilcox assured her that Brooke was indeed a very learned and well-read fellow. “He is a genuine scholar, with a much greater brain than mine, and can always be relied upon to provide plenty of interesting information on a wide range of subjects, which is what makes him such a good travelling companion,” he said. “As you will discover, he is a veritable fount of knowledge about Provence and all its great historic places. If your friend Miss Dashwood enjoys that sort of thing, she will not be disappointed,” he promised, and Miss Jones assured him that Miss Dashwood certainly did enjoy that sort of thing—being quite a scholar herself!

“She seems quite young and far too pretty for a serious blue-stocking,” observed Mr Wilcox with a smile, and Claire agreed, adding pointedly, “Indeed, but she is exceedingly sensible, too. She insisted on getting a proper education, and when the school she attended discovered how clever she was, they sent her on a scholarship to France and, on her return to England, employed her as a teacher.”

When Margaret and Mr Brooke emerged from the abbey and approached them, Claire saw that Margaret had made notes and sketches of various parts of the historic building and its grounds. She was clearly taking her tour of Provence seriously and, it seemed, Mr Brooke was happy to encourage her interest.

That evening the gentlemen had other appointments, which left the two friends to their own devices. Claire wished to return to their lodgings to rest, but Margaret was keen to wander around the village for an hour or so before returning to bathe and dress for dinner. They cautioned her not to wander too far and she assured them she would not, promising to be back at their lodgings well before dark. Once again, she was touched by the fact that both Mr Brooke and Mr Wilcox had been particular about advising her on the need to take care. She thanked them both and parted from Claire, who went upstairs to rest.

When she returned to their rooms, which were at the top of the house, overlooking a small yard with an orchard beyond, she found her friend fast asleep. Margaret was too excited to sleep; she had seen and learned so much that day, her mind was filled with the sights, sounds, and stories of one little corner of this enchanting place. How much more there must be to see and learn!

Determined that she would remember it all, she sat down at the little table by the window and wrote everything she could recall in her notebook, promising herself that she would do the same on every day they spent here. It was a promise she kept quite faithfully for the rest of their stay.

That night, after dinner, Margaret wrote to her sister a letter filled with the excitement and enthusiasm she felt as they concluded their first full day in Provence.

Dearest Elinor,

You may not receive this for a week or ten days, but I want to write you immediately, because I must tell you what a wonderful day it has been.

First, I know you will want to hear that we had a safe voyage from Plymouth, and yes, we did, except for a couple of perilous hours crossing the Bay. Marseilles was wet and a bit dreary to begin with, but Aix-en-Provence—do tell Edward he was right—is sublime, and we have only been here one day!

Before proceeding to tell you about our lodgings, which are excellent value, and the places we have seen, I must also tell Edward that we have met a gentleman who knew him when he was at Oxford. He is Mr Daniel Brooke—a colleague of Mr Wilcox, Claire's friend, and also of Edward's mentor at Oxford, Dr Francis Grantley. Now is that not an astonishing coincidence? He recalls meeting Edward at Dr Grantley's rooms and asked after him. I wonder if Edward has any recollection of him—he is tall, very lean, and quite distinguished-looking. Claire says he is very handsome, but I think his countenance is rather too grave to be deemed handsome, although when he smiles or is involved in an animated discussion, he loses some of that gravity, and then I will admit he may be called handsome. Apart from his appearance, I have to say he is an exceedingly well-read and learned gentleman—quite the most informed mind I have encountered in my adult life. And yet, he has none of the conceit and loftiness of manner that one sees in so many less-educated men.

Having exhausted her superlatives in relation to Mr Brooke, Margaret proceeded to give her sister and brother-in-law a detailed account of everything she had seen and heard and all she had learned from their travelling companion. Reading it, they would have no doubt that her holiday in Provence was providing Margaret with enjoyment in full measure.

***

On the following day, they were to go to the town centre, where they had been told a Market Day was held once a week and all the locals brought their crafts and produce and set up stalls around the square. Margaret was looking forward to it and could scarcely wait until after breakfast, when they had arranged to meet the gentlemen again. However, this time, only Mr Wilcox arrived. His friend, he told them, had to attend to some urgent personal business in another part of town and would not join them that day.

Mr Wilcox recommended that they visit the market and enjoy some of the food and wine available there before travelling to a couple of scenic venues in the area. Margaret could not hide her disappointment. Without Mr Brooke, who was going to tell them all about the historic places? She wasn't sure that Mr Wilcox had that kind of knowledge—he was certainly amiable and helpful, but his knowledge of the area was far less impressive than that of his friend, she thought. Nevertheless, Claire Jones and Mr Wilcox seemed to have their minds set upon visiting the markets, and not wishing to interfere with their plans, Margaret agreed—perhaps the market could turn up a gift or two, she said. Her friend teased, “I know you'd rather be gazing at some old crypt in an ancient church, my dear, but we have many more days to do all that—Nicholas tells me that Mr Brooke has a number of historic places on his list, which we must see; so let's enjoy the sunshine and the food and wine, which I'm assured is excellent, today,” and Margaret smiled and agreed.

She was not entirely disappointed, because the day proved to be as interesting as Wilcox and Claire had promised it would be, and the food was certainly delectable, but, as they returned to their lodgings for the night, she had to ask, “Is Mr Brooke joining us tomorrow?” She was pleased when Wilcox said, “Indeed he is, and I believe he has a special treat in store for you, Miss Dashwood; he suggests that we engage a local cart and driver and travel to Saint Remy and Glanum—places of which I have very scant knowledge, but Daniel informs me they are important medieval sites, which I believe hold a great fascination for you, Miss Dashwood.”

The smile that broke out on her face left her companions in no doubt that this was indeed true. “He did mention Saint Remy yesterday,” she said with such obvious delight, it was no surprise that when they were alone, her friend Claire decided that Margaret deserved to be teased, just a little.

They dined early, since Wilcox had warned them they were to make an early start, and as they prepared for bed, Claire remarked, apropos of nothing at all, that she was very glad that Margaret was not finding their new companion too dull or too serious as she had supposed he would be. Margaret, who had not been expecting to be teased, misread the question and declared candidly that indeed, she was herself surprised to discover that beneath the appearance of gravitas Mr Brooke had quite a good sense of humour, even while he was able to provide much detailed knowledge and had an erudite understanding of all the historic places in the area. “I do believe you are enjoying his company, Margaret, are you not?” asked her friend, to which Margaret responded artlessly, “I am indeed, because it is always so much more rewarding to have a conversation with someone who is knowledgeable than with some ignoramus who pretends to know it all, do you not agree?”

“Oh, indeed I do,” said Claire, concealing a smile but deciding that she would not press her friend further on the subject of Daniel Brooke.

Claire Jones, being some years older than Margaret and with wider experience of the world, sensed that young Miss Dashwood, while she was well educated and personable, had probably never before met a gentleman who had taken her by surprise, as it were, by his intellectual prowess alone. All her relations and acquaintances appeared to be exceedingly predictable men, whose moderate measure she could take quite quickly. Which is why, Claire thought, Margaret Dashwood had never admitted to being attracted to or in love with anyone. Neither her family circumstances nor her place of employment were particularly conducive to the possibility of meeting such a man, and Margaret was too deeply immersed in her work and too content in herself to be searching for one, as some young women of her age were wont to do.

The appearance of Daniel Brooke and Margaret's swift appreciation of his intellect and personality had set Claire thinking—but she was too sensible to rush into anything without a good deal more thought. She decided therefore to say nothing more, but determined to observe the pair with interest over the forthcoming days. And where better to observe potential lovers than in romantic Provence? she thought, as she watched her young friend, clad in her cotton nightgown, writing furiously in her notebook.

As for Margaret, she was enjoying herself so much, she had not stopped to ponder whether her pleasure rose from the places they visited or the people they met or both; but she had travelled before and knew that she'd never felt such intense exhilaration nor known such complete satisfaction before. She hadn't stopped to consider how much the presence of Daniel Brooke had enhanced her enjoyment, but she did know that without his knowledge and his quiet capacity to fill in the gaps in her information, her own appreciation of the places they had visited would have been the poorer.

In Dorset, the balmy autumn weather held for a few weeks in October before the temperatures plunged as the north winds stripped the trees of their reddening leaves and drove them into the gullies. Looking out on the bleak landscape, Marianne wondered whether her decision to accept Willoughby's invitation had been rather premature—for it looked as though the party may not eventuate at all. It seemed simpler for her to say nothing about it when Elinor called on her, ostensibly to tell her of her visit to Barton Park and convey a message from their mother.

“Mama wished me to remind you that with the colder weather approaching, you are to be careful not to catch cold or a chill; she worries about you,” said Elinor, and Marianne laughed as she poured out tea. “Really, Elinor, Mama and you still believe I am ten years old, do you not? Of course I am careful about colds and chills—Mama knows that. But she need not worry so; I believe I am a good deal stronger now than I was five years ago.”

Her sister thought instantly that she would feel a good deal happier if she could be as certain that Marianne was as careful about the company she kept as she was about avoiding colds and chills.

Marianne asked after their mother's health and was told that Mrs Dashwood appeared perfectly content looking after the household at Barton Park while Sir John was away in London. Elinor had expected Marianne to query their mother's newfound interest in household management and was surprised that she did not; nor did she ask about Mrs Dashwood's arrangements for Christmas. It had been a tradition since Elinor and Marianne were married that their mother spent Christmas with one or the other of her daughters. This time, nothing had been said and it appeared to Elinor that Marianne seemed disinterested in what their mother decided to do.

However, when Marianne revealed that Colonel Brandon was delaying his return from Ireland, Elinor thought she had a clue to her sister's mood. Perhaps, she thought, Marianne was feeling disappointed; it was almost six weeks since the colonel had left for Ireland. Believing she might enjoy some company, Elinor asked if she would like to come to dinner at the parsonage on Sunday and was very surprised when Marianne thanked her politely and refused, saying in a nonchalant sort of voice, “I shall be away; the Percevals have invited me to join them on a tour of Bath, and since I have never been to Bath, I have accepted,” and when Elinor exclaimed, “What? In this weather?” she added, “Well, I am assured that we will not be inconvenienced greatly by the weather on the journey, because we shall be conveyed there and back in two large closed carriages. Besides, we shall be chiefly indoors, since we are invited to stay at the residence of a particular friend of the Percevals.” So astounded was Elinor by her calm declaration, she could frame no suitable response. It was as though Marianne was defying her sister to question her right to enjoy herself as she thought fit, in the company of her new friends. She recalled vividly that this was the same attitude Marianne had taken during the time when Willoughby had courted her, and Elinor experienced a cold feeling of unease that had nothing to do with the weather.

Elinor knew she could not mention Willoughby, though she longed to discover if he was to be of the party. Any mention of his name would immediately set up suspicions in her sister's mind regarding her knowledge of their previous encounter at Glastonbury. Elinor wanted desperately to urge Marianne to have a care—to suggest that the Percevals were only recent acquaintances of whom they knew little—but she knew full well that were she to say any such thing, Marianne would react with such hostility as to destroy any chance of Elinor providing her with some sensible advice. Yet, she did persist, at least with practical matters, reminding her of their mother's warning and urging her to wrap up well if the weather continued as inclement on Saturday. To this Marianne said lightly that she would be leaving Delaford on Friday; the Percevals were sending a carriage for her and she assured her sister that she would be very well looked after by them. “I know you do not care for them, Elinor—only because they are friends of Robert and Lucy—but truly, they are a most hospitable and kindly family, and you need have no fears on my account. They are very fond of me and I shall be very well cared for,” she declared confidently and with that, Elinor had to be content.

When, on returning to the parsonage, she told her husband of the meeting and her disappointment that Marianne would not be joining them for dinner on Sunday, he, being ignorant of the circumstances causing her concern, appeared far more sanguine. “I know you are distressed, my love, but it is natural that Marianne would rather spend time with her friends who are younger and probably much more amusing than we are, and with the prospect of visiting Bath thrown in—I doubt that I could find it in my heart to blame her. Personally, I cannot understand what people see in Bath—apart from the impressive architecture in the city, which I grant you is remarkable, the baths and pump rooms are just an excuse for a lot of gouty old men to get together while their ladies gossip about each other, while at night, the same people dress up and dine and dance at the assembly rooms. But, if your sister has never visited Bath, it may well be an experience worth having, while one is still young enough to be entertained by it.” Elinor laughed, but not with much conviction; she could not help being concerned about Marianne, and unhappily for her, since she had said nothing to Edward about Willoughby's reappearance in her sister's life, she was unable to seek any counsel or comfort from him on that score.

***

Two days later, Margaret's letter reached her sister and for some time at least it relieved her mind, filled as it was with cheerful news and plenty of interesting information about their sojourn in Provence. It was quite clear that Margaret was enjoying her holiday, and of her well-being Elinor had no cause to worry.

She carried the letter to her husband, who was equally pleased to hear of Margaret's travels and in particular her meeting with Mr Daniel Brooke.

“Do you recall him at Oxford?” asked Elinor, and Edward certainly did.

“Indeed, I do, he was a colleague of Dr Grantley at whose rooms I saw him frequently, but he was not a student of theology. Francis and he shared an interest in sacred music and architecture—Brooke was reading history and knew everything there was to know about ancient abbeys and churches and all that sort of thing, and I do recall he was making a special study of medieval churches in France. He had a folio of sketches which were quite superb. I have not met him since, but I am quite certain Francis Grantley and he must have remained friends, since they are both still at Oxford.”

Elinor was pleased. “Then it is no surprise that he has so much information about all those historic places in Provence. Margaret is very lucky to have someone like him in their party—you know how keenly she studies her history.” Edward agreed and was about to return the letter, when his wife asked, “And what sort of person is Mr Daniel Brooke—is he an amiable sort of man?”

“Oh perfectly amiable, as I recall,” her husband replied. “He was much younger then, of course, around twenty-five or -six perhaps, rather a scholarly, quiet sort of fellow, but very handsome.”

Elinor smiled and said, “I see, and that means he must be no less than thirty years old now,” with which Edward readily agreed. “Certainly, though he may appear older because of the gravity of his countenance. I was struck by the fact that he appeared more serious than either Francis or me, although we were both older than he was. But I cannot think why we are concerned with his age, Elinor; is there some particular reason for these questions of which I am unaware?” he asked, regarding her with some amusement, but his wife only laughed lightly and said, “Oh no, Edward, none at all—it's just nice to know that Margaret has had the good fortune to meet with such excellent companions on her holidays. I could wish with all my heart that Marianne might be as well served by her new friends.”

She went away to reply to Margaret's letter, and in her response told her sister how pleased they were to learn that she was enjoying her holiday in Provence and took care to mention that Edward did remember Mr Daniel Brooke and had described him as a “perfectly amiable, quiet, scholarly sort of fellow,” which, Elinor said, sounded as though he were a very pleasant sort of person, and perhaps when they all returned to England, she might like to invite Mr Brooke to visit them at the parsonage. “I am sure Edward and he will enjoy meeting again after all these years,” she wrote.

Neither her husband nor her sister would guess that Elinor, in her heart, had begun to be concerned about Margaret's future—indeed, Elinor would scarcely admit it to herself. But she was aware that Margaret's almost total concentration upon her studies and her teaching, and her lack of interest in the usual romantic pastimes of dancing and parties that filled the waking hours of most young persons of her age, might well leave her a stranded spinster.

At twenty-one, with but a tiny dowry to her name, and no hope of a substantial inheritance, Margaret Dashwood had only her looks, her youth, and her intelligence to commend her to a possible suitor, and there were not many likely men in the circles in which she moved. Having rejected the advances of Mr Andrew Barton, whose wealth and social status had not attracted Margaret—indeed, she had regarded them as a significant drawback—Elinor feared that her youngest sister might be left to survive on the emoluments of her teaching position, unless she met and married a suitable gentleman in the next few years. Yet, she knew that Margaret would never marry anyone unless he could share her interests and she could care deeply for him.

Which is why she had found the enthusiastic account of Mr Daniel Brooke in Margaret's letter so thoroughly promising. At least, she thought, as she sealed her letter and sent it off to the post, the week had brought one thing about which she could feel some pleasure and hope—despite the disappointment she had experienced with her mother and the deep sense of foreboding that shrouded her thoughts of Marianne.

***

On Friday, Marianne waited, packed and ready, for the Percevals' carriage to arrive. She had written a note to her husband in which she had quite deliberately described the excursion to Bath as being planned by the Percevals. In earlier communications, she had mentioned them and made much of the fact that the family was respectable and their daughters were cheerful and of good character. They were, she'd said, invariably amiable and hospitable and she was glad of their company, to which Colonel Brandon had responded that he was happy indeed that she had made some new friends. On this occasion, Marianne believed he would, therefore, be pleased to learn that her new friends were being so obliging and affording her an opportunity to see Bath, which city the colonel had visited but once and never wished to re-visit. Completing her note, she had given instructions that it was to be taken to the post following her departure on Friday afternoon. Her housekeeper was informed she would return home on Monday.

When the Percevals' carriage arrived, bearing Maria and Eugenie, Marianne could not help feeling a rising sense of adventure; she had decided this was the only way she would extract some excitement out of life in Dorset, and looked forward to the experience with a degree of eagerness that she had not felt since she was seventeen.

As they drove out of Delaford, Maria and Eugenie regaled her with their hopes of seeing and meeting a range of interesting and distinguished personages in Bath. “There is to be a great party at one of the assembly rooms on Saturday night, to which we are all invited,” Eugenie advised and added, “I hope, Marianne, that you have brought one of your best gowns, for we understand the ladies of Bath are exceedingly fashionable.” There was little mention of the city's celebrated architecture, of which Marianne had heard from her brother-in-law, Edward, whose parents had spent several seasons there when he was a boy; instead, they chattered on about what fun they were determined to have and how they must remember to do and say precisely the right thing when introduced to the various important persons they expected to meet.

Marianne heard rather than listened with any interest to their talk; for while they were not inclined to crudely contemplate conquests of men they had not as yet met, they were both involved in a sort of competitive game—of setting their respective caps at some gentleman or other and making little wagers with one another on the result. They were not particularly vicious or nasty, just good-humoured girls with vacant minds, which could not accommodate more than a couple of thoughts together. And on this occasion all those thoughts were of the fun they intended to have in Bath.

They cared little whether Marianne was at all interested in the pursuit of their kind of entertainment, assuming she would find something to occupy her time. It was well, Marianne thought, that Mr Willoughby was going to join their party—else she might be condemned to spend all her time with Mr and Mrs Perceval. It was not a prospect she could anticipate with much pleasure.

Arriving at the Percevals' house, they found a message had been received from the Hawthornes that one of the young ladies was ill with a fever and the other had been reluctantly persuaded to stay at home with her sister, while their brothers would join the party on the morrow. While there was some disappointment expressed by the Misses Perceval, their main ambition to have fun was unlikely to be thwarted by the absence of two young ladies, who might well be regarded as competition. Consequently, their disappointment did not last long, and by the time they sat down to dinner, their spirits were as high as ever.

“I doubt that I shall sleep at all tonight; I am so brimful of expectation,” cried Eugenie as she finished her dessert, and her mother spoke up to warn that she should resist the temptation to have a second serving of trifle.

“Take a cup of camomile tea instead, my love, and make sure you have a good night's sleep, else your head will be heavy and your eyes dull, which would be the very worst thing if one wished to appear at one's best,” she declared, adding, “Do you not agree, Mrs Brandon?” and Marianne, who had hardly heard a word, had to respond quickly. “Oh yes indeed,” she said, adding that “a good night's sleep was very important.” This remark set off another interminable argument between the girls and their mother, during which Marianne wished with all her heart that she were twenty miles away, but forced herself to smile indulgently and say nothing. The Percevals, she noted, treated their daughters as if they were little girls who may be spoilt, as long as they were simultaneously warned of the dangers of overindulgence.